The Next Big Thing
by ellyxo
Summary: Michael, Trevor and Franklin are back planning their next heist, along with vital planning from Lester.
1. Meeting A Mess

As four eyes met, something minuscule in the brains behind those brown and blue eyes knew that they could look at one another's forever. A pair began to blink furiously as they looked down, revealing a delicate pair of shimmering eyelids. The other focused theirs to a pair of hands that held a phone. One of the hands slender fingers had just rejected a call and then tucked the phone back into the bag hanging on her arm.

'Sorry,' A soft voice mumbled. 'I'm looking for Michael De Santa.' It continued clearly. He could hear a suppressed eastern twang escape her lips.

'Yeah, that's me.' He replied, showcasing a less suppressed eastern accent. The woman smiled as soon as she noticed this, raising her head and allowing their eyes to exchange another quick glance.

'I'm Niamh,' She continued, extending her slender hand. He took his from the door and reached out to her. As he took her hand in his, he lingered, trying to savour the soft, nimble hand. He hadn't so much as looked at another woman since Amanda left, that is a woman who wasn't a stripper or a prostitute, whom he was forced to pay to touch. But ultimately, other than that, he hadn't touched a real woman in over two months. She hastily pulled her hand back, noticing the extended period of hand-holding. 'Uh, Lester sent me over.' She nervously added, taking out a plastic folder from her bag.

'Oh, shit, I thought...' Michael coughed. It wasn't that the professional criminal hadn't worked with women before, he had, but none so feminine.

'That I'd be a guy?' Her east coast twang asked as she raised an eyebrow and smiled.

'Well, yeah,' He nervously laughed, opening the door fully. 'You'd better come in.' She smiled, accepting his somewhat awkward invitation.

'I get it all the time, don't worry,' She reassured him as the made her way through the door. 'Thanks.' She added as the passed him, showering him in the scent of her perfume and shampoo. As he inhaled, thoughts flooded his mind. Amanda didn't smell like this; her perfume was too strong and she always wore too much. As for the strippers and prostitutes, well, their scent was best unsaid.

Michael showed his new colleague (was she his colleague?) into the living room and through the trail of empty whiskey and vodka bottles, cigarette boxes and the occasional discarded cheap plastic lighter. He apologised for the mess, to which she graciously smiled, and showed her back into the kitchen. They sat on the chrome stools, away from most of the mess that Michael had created over the weeks.

Niamh placed the plastic file on the marble counter with a delicacy that Michael hadn't known was possible for such a simple action. 'This is everything you need to know, Franklin and Trevor will get the same files and you'll all see Lester three times in person before the planned date.' She informed him, two fingers when she said Franklin and Trevor's names and three for the times they'd se Lester, fully captivating him. She noticed his silence. 'Thats in there too.' She added, sliding the file to him.

'Ive got to be going, anyway. I've got to _head for the hills_ and then to Blaine County.'

'You're going to Trevor's?'

'Yeah, he lives in some trailer park according to Lester which will be _fun_.' She sarcastically replied.

'And he's sending _you_?' He paused, wondering if the tone he had spoken made if sound as if he thought she was incapable. He decided that it must have because she frowned at him as she plodded from her stool. 'I mean, he's a bit, well, _strange_...'

She laughed. 'I know _all_ about Trevor Phillips. And Franklin...' She assured him as she made her way back through the maze of cigarette cartons and glass bottles to the front door. 'I think I'll manage.' She teasingly hushed.

'I could drive you. It's not like I've got anything else to do, I mean.' He blurted as he opened the front door for her.

'Are you sure you can drive?' She chuckled, looking back at the last dregs of a bottle of whiskey at the foot of the stairs.

'Ahh,' He dismissed, waving a hand as he grabbed his car keys from a nearby side table. 'I'm as sober as a monk.' This made her memory flick back to something she had learnt in school about monks inventing beer. Or something like that. Or maybe that wasn't it at all. She couldn't remember.

Before she had a chance to decline his offer, she'd been pushed into the passenger side of Michael De Santa's car and was practically on the free way. There wasn't really much said between the pair apart from the occasional question about each of their links with Lester. She had taken his number after being told he was looking for someone to help him out. If only she knew then that helping out Lester would actually be playing assistant and helping him plan all sorts. Including the obvious. As they entered the Grand Sahora Desert, Michael hazily remembered the weeks he had spent out here with Trevor and Patricia Madrazo. They finally pulled into Sandy Shores. The sun was setting over the mountains and was reflecting on the Alamo Sea. She had never been this far north other than to see the views of Mount Chilliard when a friend was visiting her and she was practically dragged out of bed at sunrise to get there and back in one day.

As the car pulled up at the almost derelict shell of a trailer, the pair left the car and headed to the door. Michael walked over the patches of burnt grass and trod on the empty beer cans on his way, whilst Niamh walked around them. Three stern knocks on the flimsy metal door to Trevor's trailer were made. The sound of glass smashing and cursing could be heard through the walls.

'_WHAT_?!' The man yelled. Niamh had no doubt in her mind that this man, this man who's only piece of clothing was a woman's floral mini dress, this man who's hair couldn't have been cut (or combed, for that matter) in at least six months, this man that stood before her that stunk of beer and stale sweat, was in fact, Trevor Phillips.

'Nice to see you too, T. This is Niamh, she's working with us.' Michael announced as he walked though the door, without even the slightest look of surprise regarding his friends clothing choices or his aggressive greeting.

'Hi,' She laughed, revealing two rows of pristine white teeth. 'I just help Lester really, I hope you've got more beer though.' She played, nudging his arm as she walked in. She followed Michael and sat on the stained, broken and trashy sofa that she didn't think twice before sitting on. Michael thought she sat on the dirty couch as if it were one in The Oval Office, not in the living room/dining room/bedroom/kitchen on Trevor Phillips' dirty trailer.

'She's better looking than Lester,' Trevor bleated as he walked over to the crate of beer on his dining room table. Popping off the cap on the table, handing her a beer and jumping up on the kitchen counter in one swift move. 'Can we keep her?' He childishly added, swigging back a gulp of cheap beer, swinging his legs and looking at Michael who could only muffle laugh.

'Here,' she laughed, handing Trevor the same file she had given Michael and would eventually give to Franklin. 'I would flick through it before you see Lester, but I wouldn't say it's too major a read.'

'Why thank you, _Niamh_.' Trevor suggestively purred, stroking her hand as he took the file. As soon as his rough skin met hers, she instantly recalled the scene in The Silence of the Lambs where Starling and Dr. Lector exchanged such contact when transferring a file between them. She mentally laughed at this and decided that from that moment on she would refer to Trevor as Hannibal. Only to herself though, maybe save his number as Hannibal Phillips. If only she knew how appropriate that was.

'What are _you_ doing out here, Mikey? I thought you said-'

'I drove.' He bluntly interjected, walking between the two as they faced each other, taking another beer out of the crate.

'Well _Niamh_ here looks capable of driving a car.' Niamh couldn't tell if Hannibal Phillips just liked saying her name for she hadn't ever had someone say her name so many times in one sitting.

'He was bored.' She added, taking a sip of her beer and looking over to the man who had just sat back down beside her.

'Well he would be,' Trevor paused as he swung his head around childishly. 'Since _Mandy-pandy _packed up her yoga bag and bailed on him.'

'Shut up, Trevor!'

'Well I think _Niamh_ should know a bit more about our lives.'

'Well why don't we tell _Niamh_ more about your life,' Michael mocked, raising himself from the couch and slamming his beer bottle down the kitchen counter. He stood on the dirty checked kitchen flooring as if it were a stage. 'Trevor here, is a Canadian _psychopath_ who kills old ladies and animals-'

'And Michael here is a fat, selfish, cheating _asshole_ who-' Trevor began jumping down from the kitchen counter and walking into Michael.

'I think I'd better go,' Niamh yelled. The two men were stood chest to chest like guerrillas that were about to fight out their dominance. As the guerrillas turned their furious red faces to look at her, they saw she was smiling a fake smile, probably an irritated one. 'Its late, you should probably go too Michael.' He liked the way she said his name. He stepped back. A deep glare between he and Trevor continued for little less than a minute and was ultimately broken by Niamh walking between them. She pulled out her phone as she walked through the door.

'Hey, can I get a cab please? I'm at Sandy Shores.' She paused, hoping that the response would be positive. 'Thanks.'

'You're getting a cab?' Michael asked. He knew full well that she had just ordered one because he could hear her through the paper thin walls of Trevor's trailer.

'Yeah, I'm gonna' stay up north tonight. It's kinda' late for me.'

'Oh right, cool...'

Michael debated whether or not to wait around for the taxi to arrive. After all, he knew Trevor, and he knew that Trevor could swagger on out of that shack on bricks and hit her over the head with a shovel and that would be the last of her. He decided he should wait.

'I guess I'll see you at Lester's...' She added as the taxi pulled up.

'Yeah, nice meeting you.'

'You too, thanks for the ride.'

'No problem.' Michael closed the door of the cab, securing her, successfully keeping her from Trevor and the shovel, he thought. He could feel hear his sanity shouting at him; he should have taken her number (even though she'll have his, but why would she call him? She wasn't going to call and offer to take him for a drink, was she?). He shouldn't have started a dirty, name-calling brawl with Trevor. She probably thought he was a pathetic, desperate old slob by now anyway.

She couldn't tell if she was sick or hungry. She debated asking the driver if there were any diners out here but she eventually thought better of it. She'd get something on her way back tomorrow morning. This welcomed to her thought process how exactly she'd get back tomorrow morning. She had $100 in her purse and the cab to would cost at least...

'Twenty-five dollars please.' The foreign cabby announced. Niamh took the notes from her purse and handed them to him with a smile and thanks.

The "rest stop" was exactly how she had imagined it. Dirty, littered with trash and broken glass, cheap, hopefully, she wished, thinking of the remaining seventy-five dollars in her bag, and just what she needed for one night. She walked in through a pair of glass doors that if her mother had seen she'd have got a bucket of water and cleaned them herself. Eventually, after haggling down the frankly "ridiculous" cost of exactly seventy-five dollars for the room to fifty, she slipped into the cheap sheets and closed her eyes.

**{ A/N }**

**I have quite a few ideas for this one... There's going to be some violence soon(ish) and some back stories relating to Niamh's character. I hope it's an alright read, it's the first thing I've started since I 'hit a bump in the road'. Please review if you've got a spare two seconds.**

**Thanks, X**


	2. A Rude Awakening

'You fuckin' whore!' A voice wailed.

Niamh woke up with a jolt, almost on the other side of the room by the time she registered the voice wasn't actually in her room. She cursed at the paper thin walls and then scrambled around trying to remember where she had left her bag, eventually finding it slumped on an old tatty chair that the owner was probably passing off as vintage. Reaching around for her phone, she pulled it out and dialled Lester's phone. She pulled her black jeans from the chair back she had hung them on last night as she waited for him to pick up.

'I'm stuck in Sandy Shores and I'm flat broke, can you send a cab?' She mumbled as she stumbled trying to pull her jeans up.

'Is that what boss' do?' He asked playfully, predicting to himself the tone of voice she would respond in.

'Hey, you're not my boss.' She insisted, raising her voice slightly as she hopped off the last step of the motel stairs and pushed open those dirty glass doors.

'I pay you!' He chuckled, slightly raising his.

'Potato, _potato_.' She sighed. 'Can you save me from redneck hell?'

'Fine,' He sighed. 'Someone will be there in ten minutes.'

'Y'know, you'd be a great-' Niamh playfully began.

'_Goodbye_, Niamh.'

As she lingered outside, she put a face to the voice which woke up. It matched the picture she had concocted in her head almost perfectly; greased up hair, stained wife beater and dirty cargo pants. She courteously smiled at him (something her mother had instilled in her to do, even in the mean streets of Liberty City) as she hung up the phone. He huffed and continued to smoke his cigarette.

The harsh desert sun beamed down and Niamh proceeded to perch herself against a wall in the shade. She waited; checking her e-mails, texting her friend Liza whom she knew she had promised to meet for breakfast but couldn't make it and was sorry, but she would take her for drinks later.

'Niamh?' She was awoken from her cyber life to a face she already knew.

'Franklin, right?' She smiled and narrowed her eyes.

'Yeah,' he chuckled. 'Lester told me to come and get you.'

'I thought he'd send a cab or something,' she paused. 'How did you get here so fast?'

'He called me last night...' He confusingly answered. Of course he did. He knew her every move after all. She confusingly laughed it off and he led her to his car.

'So, you met T then?'

She laughed. 'Yeah, I met him. It's definitely going to be an interesting job.' He laughed too, but didn't speak. She assumed that his laughter was in agreement. She wasn't sure though.

They didn't really say much to each other until they were well onto the freeway. 'So, tell me about yourself, you don't seem the type of girl to be doin' this shit.'

'There's not a lot to tell really,' She declared as she pondered over the thought of how she couldn't really describe herself. 'Money is money, if I can pay my rent you won't hear me complaining.' The young man smiled. 'What about you? How'd you get into all of this?'

'Through Michael I guess. I broke into his house tryin' to repo his kids car.'

'Seriously?' She scoffed a laugh, instantly intrigued.

'Yeah, man. They're good guys though.' He smiled, trying to concentrate on the traffic but wanting to look at her.

'I've worked with worse people.'

'Yeah? Where abouts you from, anyway?' He asked, noticing she didn't speak (or look for that matter) like most of the brain-dead barbies of Los Santos.

'Liberty.' She said plainly.

'City?'

'Yeah.' There wasn't any other Liberty that she had ever heard of.

'Man, how'd you end up out here?'

'Work I guess, a lot of people didn't get out so lucky over there, people got caught. A European guy got most of the blame for it in the end.'

'I heard somethin' like that, he drop off the radar?'

'According to Lester.' She confirmed. The conversation fell short and the pair fell silent until the car was stood before a set of red traffic lights.

'Do you want to go for a drink? Or somethin'?' Franklin blurted out, like a secret he couldn't keep to himself anymore.

She flashed her teeth with a smile. 'Sure,' She began, before she began rummaging. He hands left it with a pen, she scribbled down her number and placed the scruffy piece of paper in the glove compartment.

They arrived at the corner closest to Niamh's apartment. 'Thanks for the ride,' she smiled as she slid out of the car. She leant down and looked through the window as she closed it. 'And I'll see you for that drink?'

'Yeah, I'll call you.' He set the gas and sped away as she walked into her apartment. He wasn't going home though. As she set about having a shower and washing the sand out of her hair, Franklin drove to Michael's house.

* * *

'Hey man, where've you been?' Michael inquired, throwing an empty bottle into the plastic trash can he held in his other hand.

'Lester had me go get Niamh... You met her?'

'Yeah, yesterday.'

'We're going for drinks.'

'You and her?'

'Yeah, dog. She gave me her number.' Of course she did, Michael thought.

'When are you going to see her then?'

'I don't know man, I'll text her and see what she's doing later...' Franklin paused as he saw his friend pull out the black bag from the plastic trash can. He saw the shapes of at least twenty-five bottles trying to burst back into the dirty room. 'Why don't you come too? She can bring a friend.' He added, winking as he suggested it.

Michael was prepared to decline Franklins offer with a 'I don't want to be a tag along' but he did want to tag along, he wanted to breathe the crisp air that only three a.m. could provide. He hummed. 'Fine, call her and we can have a few drinks here before we go.'

'Yes!' The young man chimed, taking his phone out of his pocket and walking into the kitchen to phone his new colleague. 'You have an excuse to drink that shit now, homie.'

Michael laughed as he listened in on the call.

'Hey, it's Franklin.' He heard. 'How about that drink tonight?' The smooth talker continued. 'Oh, you're going out with a girlfriend?' Frank repeated, peering his head around the tile corner and winking at Mike. 'Well I could bring Mike along and we could all go?', 'Cool, yeah, we'll see you there at eight.'

'Tell me she's bringing a hot friend.' Michael joked.

'She's bringing two, she said to bring T.'

'T? Is she crazy?' He exclaimed.

'Dog, I couldn't care what she is, as long-'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.' Michael interrupted, waving his hand above his head and stoping Franklin from saying anymore.


	3. In With The FIB

Eight couldn't come around quick enough from Franklin. Especially since Trevor had convinced he and Michael to drive south to the Vanilla Unicorn before taking a cab back north to meet Niamh.

'T, you do realise that we have to fork out for a cab now, right?' Franklin moaned as he stumbled through the front door of the strip club.

'No we don't, I'll drive.' Trevor responded, as if the rum and whiskey chasers had no effect.

'T, you ain't driving us up there.' Michael said plainly as he began to dial a cab.

'Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,' Trevor began, putting his filthy hand over the screen of his friends phone. 'I'm fine. Unfortunately, when you get to consume as much meth as I do, no amount of booze will even touch the sides.'

'Look, I'll pay for the cab-' Franklin began.

'Everybody in!' Trevor yelled as he clambered into his truck.

Reluctantly, each of them did eventually get into the truck; Franklin sitting in the back. To Michael's surprise, Trevor delivered the three of them relatively safely back to his part of town. That is if you excuse the flattened old lady next to AmmuNation. It was ten past by the time the three men strolled into the bar, each being painted different colours by the strobe lights that flashed and moved around the dark room. Trevor eventually picked Niamh out. She was sat by the bar with two blondes; her gingery shade stood out. They all made a b-line for her and introduced themselves to her friends.

'This is Laura and Joy.' Niamh added, shouting just to be heard over the raging music.

She noticed that the group had paired off; Franklin had moved to a booth with Joy and Trevor was sat chatting up Laura, who by that point was drunk enough not to know any better, he could have been Brad Pitt for all she knew. Michael and Niamh were both sat nursing a glass of whiskey.

'How was your drive back?' She shouted, trying to be heard again.

Michael raised his hand to his ear. 'What?' Niamh laughed and got up from her stood, taking Michaels drink and motioning him to follow.

She walked around the bar to a man who was sat talking to a waiter. The man, who greeted her with a kiss on each of her cheeks, seemed happy to see her. Michael saw her whisper something into his ear and as she pulled back, she was given a key. She looked back at Michael and continued walking until she arrived at a relatively quiet space of the bar. She sat down and put the two glasses on a table.

'What was the key for?' Michael asked as he lowered himself onto the grey couch.

'Laura's condo, he's been crashing there.' She replied, rolling her eyes and straightening out the sheer blouse she had on.

'Oh right, how was the drive back?' He asked, not knowing that she had tried to ask him the same thing.

'Not bad, I could have done without that motel though.'

'I bet, better than crashing at Trevor's.'

Niamh laughed in agreement. 'He's funny though.'

'Psychotic more like.'

'Efficient?' She said uncertainly and without thinking, as if he had extracted the thought from her mind, They both began to laugh at themselves before taking a sip of their whiskey, or a swig in Michael's case.

'Come here often?' Michael asked, laughing once he realised he had just used possibly the cheesiest chat up line ever.

Niamh laughed, a blush covering her cheeks. 'I live here.'

'You don't seem like a heavy drinker.'

She chuckled. 'No, I live upstairs. There's a couple of apartments and I get the rent cheap if I work a couple of shifts.'

'You work here too?'

'Ive got to have some legitimate income.' Niamh laughed. The pair continued their small talk for about an hour more before Niamh asked Michael if he wanted some coffee. She could tell he was tired by just looking at him; his eyes were surrounded by dark circles and he would try and mask a yawn every once in a while. As soon as Michael walked through Niamh's apartment door, he instantly questioned how much Lester was paying her. Everything looked expensive and new; the kitchen was almost as well equipped as his, there were games consoles and millions of DVD's placed on shelves on the wall. He couldn't help but comment.

'Jeez, how much is Lester paying you again?'

She scoffed as she stretched up to an open cupboard, bringing two mugs down as she descended. 'Tell me about it. The whole apartment was refitted just before I moved in.' She explained, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and offering Michael some. They moved from the kitchen and sat down on the nearby couch.

'Niamh?' A voice hollered as the sound of a key rustled in the door.

'Yeah,' She began, groaning as she pulled herself up from the sofa and putting the steaming mug on the table. 'One second.'

* * *

'Hey, what's up?'

'Nothing, we're just having coffee. Want some?'

'Sure. Got milk today?'

'Yes,' She chuckled. 'Michael's through there.'

'Michael?'

'Yeah, he's a friend of Lester's.'

'Oh, cool.' The clunk of what Michael assumed to be a bag echoed throughout the apartment and the sound of footsteps grew towards him.

* * *

'Hey man, I'm Max.' Gurgled a voice as it peeled off a leather jacket.

'Michael.' He smiled, taking another sip of his coffee.

Max released a sigh as he sank into the opposite couch to Michael and threw his head back. Michael put his eagle eye to work; Max had a tattoo on his neck, his hear was long but brushed back and he wore a strange ring which Michael couldn't quite distinguish.

'How'd you know Niamh?' Max asked and he pulled off one of his boots.

Michael knew that Niamh had already told him. 'I'm a friend of Lester's.'

'Max, d'you need a cab?' Niamh chimed, as she caught him taking off his remaining shoe.

'You're sending me away?' He sarcastically cooed, taking the mug from Niamh's hand.

'I'm doing you a favour.'

'Can't you give me a ride? I've got no cash.'

'You can pay me back.'

'Fine, fine,' He sputtered. 'Got any more sugar?' Niamh groaned as she got up again, something that was becoming a recurrence in this part of her home tonight, and wondered into the kitchen.

'You seeing her?' Max aggressively asked, sitting froward in his seat and narrowing his already piercing eyes.

'What?' Michael scoffed. 'No, we just met.' He responded, suddenly becoming just as hostile as the respective alpha-male in Niamh's life.

'Here,' Niamh broke something in the air, but not the hostility, as she held out a jar of sugar. As she looked up, she saw two angry dogs baring their teeth and ready for a fight. 'Max, get out.' She plainly continued, pulling the sugar back to her chest.

'Tell your buddy Michael that.'

'I'm telling you. Go or I'll call George.'

'What the fuck is George going to do?' Max raged. He realised that when Niamh narrowed her eyes, glaring at him, he shouldn't have raised his voice.

'Put your fucking shoes on and get the fuck out of here!' She yelled. A break in her voice caught Max's attention, making him put his shoes on. She walked him to the door, shooting Michael an 'I'm sorry' look as she shook her head. Michael could hear them arguing in the hall.

* * *

'Don't come round here anymore.'

'I only came to check up on you.'

'I don't need checking up on, Max, I'm twenty eight.'

'I was worried.'

'Yeah, well you can keep on worrying. I'm going to tell George not to let you in anymore.'

'For Christ's sake, Niamh-' Max had to stop himself from grabbing her. From shaking whatever stupidity he thought had seeped into her.

'You're not my oxygen supply.' She snapped under her breath, but loud enough to be audible to Michael.

'You don't know anything else.'

'I'm not doing this anymore.' With that, Michael heard the door slam and her feet patting on the carpet.

* * *

'Sorry, he's not normally like that.'

'Boyfriend?'

'Ex. He doesn't understand the term break-up.'

'Yeah,' Michael scoffed. He was about to lay into the jackass until he noticed something on the couch. 'He left something.' Michael added, standing and walking over to the other couch.

The closer he came to the pocket sized object, the more his face began to turn red. His eyes became dark and his breathing became heavy. He fondled the glistening badge in his hand, looking up as Niamh walked in from the kitchen. A look of confusion washed over her face as she saw the man stood in her living room. She opened her mouth to speak but was instilled, stunned by Michael.

'What the fuck is this.' He spat, holding up a LSPD badge.

'No, Max is a detective-'

'What the fuck!' He raged, pulling out a piston and aiming.

'Lester knows.' She carefully spoke, her breathing beginning to quicken.


	4. Rat Fight

Michael had Niamh's fate controlled in one hand and his phone clutched in the other. He dialled Lester's number and was surprised by the quick response of the usually lazy answerer.

'Yes.' The nasally voice clucked, seemingly unappreciative of the early morning phone call.

'Niamh's a fuckin' _rat_, Lester.'

'Ah,' Lester began, Michael could mentally picture him pushing up his glasses to the bridge of his nose. 'You've met Mr. Loki. She's not a _rat_ but _yes_, he is a detective and _yes_, he is working for the F.I.B.'

'Are you fuckin' _crazy_?' Michael screamed, withdrawing his guns aim at Niamh's head. She held her neck and stumbled forward from the wall as he raised his armed hand to his head.

'No, he hasn't got a clue and he keeps her _name out of the books_. What have you said to her?'

'I had her a gun at her fucking head.' He sighed, wishing he hadn't overreacted and let's face it, drawing a gun was a pretty massive overreaction.

'_Jesus_, Michael. Is she alright?'

'I don't know...' He replied, also curious to her welfare. He kept the phone to his ear and walked back over the alcove her kitchen was in. She looked at him, her eyes were dark and he could see red result of her own hold on her neck.

'Give me the phone.' She carefully spoke, holding out her hand.

Michael took a step closer and placed his phone in her open palm, as she raised it to her ear she turned from Michael's gaze.

'Im out, Lester. No fucking jackass brings a gun into my house and-' Michael assumed Lester had grown a backbone and cut her off. He heard her scoff and she threw his phone at him.

'Look, I'm really sorry, Lester hadn't-' He began, barley catching the phone as he tried to walk towards her.

'Just go.' She mumbled, stepping back into a kitchen counter. He held out his hands in defeat, but he saw her begin to panic; her chest pumping like an injured bird.

'Niamh, please.'

'How _dare_ you bring a gun and _threaten_ me in my own house.' Niamh hissed, stepping out of the cabinet and towards him. She felt an uncontrollable bout of anger towards the criminal in front of her.

'I thought-' She stopped him, this was her opportunity to speak.

'You had a gun pointed at my _head_!' Teeth gritted, Niamh and Michael stood chest to chest

'Yeah, for a damn good reason.'

'Just because you think you can do whatever you want and kill whoever you want does not mean you can pull out a gun on _me_.' She continued.

'Hey, who says I do that?' He protested moving back from her.

'I do, Lester does, Trevor does-' She continued, walking into him, cornering him.

'Are you _kidding_ me? Trevor is a psychopath.'

'You'd be surprised how widely the term can be used.'

'And this is coming from some prissy little bitch-'

'_Yeah_, it is!' She yelled, placing a hand on her hip. 'But at least I have more than a shred of humanity.' She added into his ear again.

She broke their deadly gaze and began to make her way to the apartment door. As she did, he grabbed her arm. She looked down to see his hand attached like a vice around her upper arm which was when he kissed her. He could feel her mumble fuck you as he pushed her backwards, towards the kitchen. He moved his hand from her waist, up her back on to her neck whist she began to unbutton his shirt.


End file.
